It's Not My Party... But I'll Cry If I Want To

Oh the days following a birthday. After having my ego stroked for about a week now and celebrating at any given chance, the festivities are officially over. And things are starting to feel weird up in here.

I don't get a cupcake with a candle and a wish with every meal??

You don't want to treat me to lunch??

You're not calling me just to say how much I mean to you and how happy you are that I'm alive??

Yay, is that a present for me??? No? Ok. I didn't think so anyways.

Has it seriously been a half an hour since someone wrote on my Facebook??

This tiara wasn't for everyday wear??

Bummer.

For all of the birthday memories that red wine has stolen away from me, today I found a momento of this years birthday that brought a tear to my eye and that I will hold onto forever.

The most precious card I have ever received from my dear friend/sister/neighbour Gigi. An artist with more natural talent and ability than I can decribe. And she has quite the way with words as well...



Tears. Lots of them.

Not just jealous tears because I wish I had her printing abilities, or laughter tears because the drawing of her cat Betsey is so accurate that I know this isn't the first time Bets has sat for her. Or the fourth time or the hundredth time. Or the last time.

Tears because I have a friend who loves me for me and says it in words that I can believe. Someone who gets me, probably because she is part of me in so many ways. Someone who will lie about my home-made vegetable cake tasting delicious or say that my last rage blackout probably didn't scare him off forever. Someone who can be my reckless partner in crime on a runaway party night and can also appreciate a lovely crafting night in, and with equal vigor.

And she is definitely someone who will not judge me tonight when I ask her to please sing Happy Birthday to me for the last time while I blow out the last candle on my last cupcake.

She'll probably even make sure that my tiara isn't on crooked.